Jüngling Sherlock
by HollyShadow88
Summary: The first in what will probably be a group of Sherlock/fairy tale crossovers. A retelling of Jungfrau Maleen and a very slight (blink and you miss it) crossover with Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days, with Sherlock as Maleen and John as his prince.
1. Prologue

Chances are pretty strong that not many people know Jungfrau Maleen - hell, the only reason I know it is because of Book of a Thousand Days and my almost ten years of studying German. If you aren't familiar with the story, I highly encourage reading it, either before or after reading this, because it is utterly fabulous. It's one of the various tales collected by the brothers Grimm and is fascinating in one of those 'wait, the parent did WHAT NOW' kind of ways. But I've been contemplating starting a series of Grimm/Sherlock crossovers and where better to start than one of the ones that is lesser known? So here, have my attempt at Grimming up Sherlock.

Jüngling Sherlock

_Prologue – Introductions_

The first time they met, the incident was far from spectacular. Sherlock, the precocious six-year-old that he was, spent much of the visit pestering his brother and ignoring the curious stares of the then nine-year-old John. The one time they were forced to interact, Sherlock tested the tolerance level of John's normally patient dog, uncovered Harriet's secret stash of liquors hidden in the nursery wall, and managed to make the nursemaid cry - _twice_. Needless to say it was a fair amount of time before the two families willingly interacted face-to-face once more.

The second time, though far less stressful for everyone overall, was no more significant. This time John's family came to Sherlock's, their fathers crafting plans for a possible treaty while the other members of the family attempted not to cause a minor war amongst themselves. Mycroft may have been the same age as Harriet, and therefore an ideal candidate for a possible marriage had they not both been the heirs to their individual thrones, but their personalities clashed as horridly as oil and water forced to mix. The pair spent most of their time sending the other icy glares over the top of their younger siblings' heads. Sherlock occupied much of his time with books, his raven curls poking over the edges of the binding as he blatantly ignored John's various attempts at conversation. John had grown into a determined teenager, however, and never failed to engage the younger boy in a rather one sided discussion. At the time, Sherlock was twelve, and John fifteen.

It was not until their third encounter, on the occasion of Sherlock's eighteenth birthday, that the situation grew interesting. Though the idea of a ball sounded dull beyond comprehension to the young prince, Sherlock's father insisted, inviting anyone nearby to attend the festivities. As he rested his angular chin in the hand propped by the arm of his chair, Sherlock's previously bored eyes lit upon a short yet sturdy gentleman. He stood surrounded by other young men and women, obviously listening with little interest to the discussion while refraining to comment himself. When called upon, he would provide a small smile or nod, quickly covering his indifference in a gulp of his drink before he once more lost the thread of the conversation. Abruptly his head rose, navy eyes meeting Sherlock's own, and a genuine grin broke across his bright face. Sherlock soon lit upon him and snatched him away, keeping John's attention for the rest of the evening.

Once John returned home, they continued their friendship through exchanged letters. Sherlock astounded John with his various analyses of those around him and John intrigued Sherlock with his extraordinary normalcy and temperance. Hardly a year into their correspondence, John sent word of his intention to ask for Sherlock's hand. Surprising to none more than himself, Sherlock found himself eager to accept. Sherlock's father, however, found the situation less than ideal.

Thus begins the tale of Prince John and his own Jüngling Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 1 - Tower

Woo, first official chapter! Sorry this has taken so long - I have no valid excuse, this has been done and posted for ages on AO3, I'm just lazy. Just a few quick notes before we're on to the actual story, I promise! First off, Sherlock's father in this is a different representation than in the actual series; Mr. Holmes is far too sweet and precious and basically completely adorable to be the asshat that the king is, so I decided to make him a completely different individual. I considered making Mycroft into the father figure, but that made me sad. I adore Mycroft, particularly Mark's version, and I have other plans for him in the future of this story. The chapters will rotate between being from Sherlock's third person point of view to John's, meaning that while this is what is happening to Sherlock, the next chapter will be what is happening to John not long after. I'm not planning on wasting a lot of time on Sherlock and Greg in the tower - honestly, who wants to read about two blokes sitting around twiddling their thumbs for seven years? - so the beginning of this will probably seem to move fairly quickly. At the moment, I have no idea how quickly I'll be getting chapters out or how many chapters this will be, but I'll be updating it on my AO3 (under the same username) probably more consistently, so check there for more info. Okay, enough my rambling, on with the show!

_Chapter One – Tower_

"Absolutely, _completely _not!"

Sherlock's arms crossed tightly over his chest as he rolled his eyes. "I fail to see what you suspect you can do to prevent it, Father. As the second son, it is my duty to marry in a way that will be beneficial towards the kingdom. John's country is successful, wealthy, and on particularly friendly terms with our own, and the man himself has proven himself both brave and compassionate multiple times over. I am of an age to choose a spouse and have done so accordingly, as well as finding one that pleases me. What possible qualms could you hold against this seemingly ideal situation?"

The king fumed from his throne, dark eyes narrowed in irritation down at his younger son. "What you _fail_ to consider, young man, is my consent!" the man roared, clenched fists pounding into the chair's arms. "What good could it do you to wed the second child of a neighbouring kingdom when you could come to rule your own? I will not have the hard work I have put into grooming you as a future king to be wasted on something as foolish as sentiment!"

"I have no intention of ruling anything," Sherlock snapped back. "You've a more than capable king in Mycroft, and I've more meaningful tasks to set myself to than the ruling of idiots. I'm hardly the sort of man to care for presiding over the masses."

Taking a deep breath that shuddered through the length of his body, the king pushed himself to his feet to stand rigidly before his son. "You are to be engaged to Princess Sally of the far southern kingdom, Sherlock, and that is the last of it. It is time for you to stop behaving like the ridiculous child that you are and to take up the responsibilities of one of your station. I have allowed you to do as you wish for far too long – it ends now. Prince John shall remain no more than an ally, until the day comes when his use falls short."

The king made to brush past Sherlock, considering the issue resolved, when the prince's deep voice caused him to screech to a halt. He spoke only one word, but the severity laced in his tone conveyed much more.

"No."

Silence fell in looming whirls over the room as the king turned slowly back to Sherlock. "Excuse me?"

Straightening himself to his full and fairly impressive height, Sherlock kept his face neutral as he faced his father. "No, I will not marry Princess Sally. I have made my decision, and my choice is John. I shall wed him or none."

Blind fury radiated from the king toward Sherlock, but the prince remained stoically determined. Slowly the man stepped forward, halting only when Sherlock's body physically forced it of him. "Is this your final word?" he seethed, voice treacherously soft.

The only sign of Sherlock's possible discomfort came from the faint motion of him swallowing. "It is."

Without warning, the king snatched Sherlock by the arm and dragged him from the room. "Very well; if you insist upon being obstinate, I will treat you accordingly. Perhaps a few years spent locked away on your own can convince you to see the matter with the proper clarity."

"Oh Sherlock, why must you always be so bloody difficult?" Mycroft ran a hand through his short hair, the motion illustrating his brother's worry more than words ever could. Not much could ruffle the crown prince's normally indifferent persona, but apparently the possibility of his only brother being forced into confinement was one of them.

"I am merely attempting to be with the man I love and you consider me the difficult one?" Sherlock scowled back as he attempted to formulate an appropriate escape. At the moment he considered thirteen possible options, only five of which actually involved something illegal. Given his circumstances, he hardly cared. "What kind of man locks his child into a tower for seven years purely because he wishes to marry someone he doesn't approve of? And to think that everyone considers you the smart one – "

"I am," Mycroft instantly replied with a light sniff. "And I happen to agree with you completely, but there were far more intelligent options for going about this than flat out refusing him! Dear lord, Sherlock, have you absolutely no sense of self preservation whatsoever?"

Sherlock only had time to roll his eyes before they were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Catching a glance of the familiar silvery hair of his servant, Sherlock felt an unexpected dip of terror grip at his insides. Surely they couldn't have finished constructing the tower already?

"Your Highness?" Greg inquired, worried gaze roving over Sherlock's stiff frame. "We've been called for. It's time."

Gulping down his fear, Sherlock said, "Impossible. It's hardly been a day, Lestrade, not even my father could have something such as this built so quickly."

Greg shook his head slowly, mouth set in a grim line. "They've converted one of the old watchtowers, down beyond the river just outside the city's walls. The king seems pretty determined to nip this in the bud right off."

He turned to Mycroft, whose blue eyes stared across at him with a mixture of pity and concern only detectable to his brother. "There's absolutely nothing you can do?"

Mycroft sighed and glanced at the ceiling. "Not without making it worse or getting myself locked away with you. I'm concerned about you, brother dear, but I fear that we would destroy ourselves in no time should we be trapped together like a pair of caught rats. Besides, there's hardly any way for me to get you out of the situation if I'm just as stranded as you are."

Sherlock snorted his agreement and squared his shoulders, composing himself with a few swift blinks and a determined set to his jaw. "Very well. Lead on, Lestrade."

He glided from the room before his brother could speak again, his servant bustling to keep up. Sherlock sensed that the man was on the verge of speech, outcries of sympathy and pleas that he simply do as his father bid certainly on his lips. He cut the man off before he'd gained the courage to follow through. "I appreciate your concern, Lestrade, but I assure you that any possible attempts to sway me otherwise will do little good. I intend to follow through on my word, regardless of the consequences."

"I understand," came Greg's instant reply, causing Sherlock to halt in the middle of the nearly empty corridor. His eyes narrowed as he took in his servant and his words came tumbling out before he could stop them.

"You've officially broken things off with your wife, which was a wise move considering that she had no plans to halt the various affairs she's been holding for several years. You're despondent, but that's not the only reason why. Concerns over your position now that I'll no longer require your services? Unlikely – you've been with the family for many years, proven yourself loyal and hardworking, and my father would be a fool not to utilize you. Worries about myself? Doubtful, seeing as I have done nothing over our time together to result in your having any friendly affection towards me – "

"Sherlock…"

The prince held up a hand to hush the man. "What is it, then? You're still in the uniform required of a servant of the prince, but only acknowledged me when you entered my chambers, meaning that you have not been passed on to Mycroft. _Oh_." His silvery blue eyes scanned Greg's face carefully, his words coming out hardly audible and incredulous. "No, Lestrade. I cannot allow you to have the same fate as me. I refuse to bring anyone against their will into my own personal hell."

"I offered my services, Your Highness," Greg interrupted, bringing Sherlock's deductions to a halt. The prince stared blankly at him as he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "It didn't seem right, you going off alone for seven years, and as you were so kind to point out, it isn't as though I have anything to keep me here. So I volunteered to go with you, so you won't be getting rid of me that easily."

Blinking slowly, Sherlock gradually nodded. "I…thank you, Lestrade. That's very noble of you."

Greg snorted and shot his master a tiny grin. "Hardly – I'm just tagging along so you don't drive yourself mad without someone to insult while you're stuck in there. You need someone to keep you right until you figure your way out of this and back to your lad."

Despite himself, Sherlock felt a small smile of his own quirk the edges of his lips. "Well, come along then, Lestrade. Let us face the gallows as determined men." With that, he strode forward, leading them silently to their fate.


End file.
